


Closure

by MarleySmith



Category: Glee
Genre: Ghost!Kurt, M/M, McKinley High School, Mourning, New York, Tribute week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarleySmith/pseuds/MarleySmith
Summary: “When Kurt got sick, we prepared for the worst. But nothing, no amount of late nights crying in his arms can compare to the feeling of not having his arms at all.”Loosing Kurt was hard on everyone.But to Blaine, it was as if denial had him in a chokehold. Like if he believed hard enough, Kurt would still be there, as something more than a memory.(In which the New Directions return to Lima for a week of singing and celebrating the life of one Kurt Hummel)(Set in season 5 post Klaine engagement, almost canon)(Trigger warnings: Young death, suggested mentions of suicide, terminal illness, grief)





	1. Chapter 1

June 21st, 2014

‘At 7:47 PM on Saturday, May 19th, Kurt Hummel passed away after a year long battle with cancer.’ 

Blaine’s eyes flickered over each word and he felt his fists clench in disgust. He couldn’t stand the word battle. It was so detached and overused, and in no way did it describe the last year of Kurt’s life. If it had been a battle, his body would’ve fought back, but it didn’t. It crumbled and surrendered almost immediately, no matter how much his head disagreed. Also, Kurt didn’t pass away. He shuddered to a halt in compete agony, when the cancer had finally decided to put him out of his misery. Blaine screwed the paper up in one hand and threw it against the wall, breathing heavily. It was an issue of the NYADA school newsletter, in which someone had written an article about Kurt’s death. It was factual and forced, devoid of emotion. Because Blaine knew that half of that narcissistic drama school had never given a damn about Kurt and never would. It was all guilt induced, because it had taken them a month and it was a small section of the paper. 

Blaine felt fresh tears fall as he shuddered, lacing his fingers into his hair and leaning forward. None of them cared about Kurt, not like he had. This isn’t what he wanted. Kurt wanted the whole world to know his name, yet now, at the end of his life, it had barely traveled around a High School in Ohio and an arts school in New York. And Kurt was gone, so he couldn’t do anything about it, and anybody who did know Kurt closely was too destroyed to do anything. This wasn’t fair. God, none of it was fair. Blaine had been thinking that over and over since the moment of Kurt’s diagnosis. Since he’d sat on the bathroom floor beside him, rubbing his back while he vomited. Since he’d held him as he sobbed, because one of the things Kurt had cared so deeply about was looking good, and now his hair was falling out. Since Kurt had moved into the hospital on the long term ward, and Blaine spent most of his time sleeping on the couch beside him. 

Since Kurt never came home. 

Blaine wasn’t truly sad yet, even after a month. He was still so unexplainably angry. Angry at cancer. Angry at Kurt for leaving him. Angry at the world. Angry about things that couldn’t be controlled. His grieving consisted of riding out wave after wave of violence, at himself and others. He let out a strangled sob and stood, picking the ball of paper up off of the floor and removing the lighter from his pocket. In one quick motion, the paper burst into flames, which Blaine dropped. He watched it burn, before stomping it out and leaving it as a small pile of blackened ash. Blaine closed his eyes, but the moment he did, Kurt’s face began to materialise behind his eyelids. Without thinking, Blaine slammed his fist forward, directly into the wall. He failed to the register the pain as he began punching, over and over again. It was only when he saw his blood staining the light blue painted walls that he stopped, and turned, collapsing on his bed and sobbing. 

Tomorrow, everyone was going back to McKinley for a Kurt tribute week. Blaine wasn’t ready. 

He lay face down on his pillow, praying it would suffocate him, thinking about seeing everyone Kurt loved; about standing in the choir room; about hearing songs that Kurt had sung or that reminded them of him. He wasn’t sure he could do it. When suddenly, that same face materialised in his head again. Kurt smiled softly at him. When Blaine shot up and opened his eyes, Kurt was still there, leaning against the wall. Blaine sighed. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Regardless, it was his fiancé, so he felt himself straightening up and flattening his hair. Kurt still gave him butterflies. 

“So what song are you singing for me this week?” Kurt asked. Blaine shifted, his eyes flickering over his late fiancé. He didn’t look how he’d looked in the last few months of his life. Blaine’s mind wanted to see Kurt the way he knew Kurt would want to be remembered: he a full head of hair, pushed upwards in a perfect quiff. He was wearing a tight fitting blue shirt that showed off the muscle he’d built up since moving to New York. He was gorgeous. 

Blaine shrugged, looking down at his bloody knuckles. “What do you want me to sing?”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “That’s not the idea, babe.” 

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Blaine snapped. “How I condense how I’m feeling into a song? I don’t remember many artists who’ve written songs about when your fiancé dies and you’re only nineteen and you’re completely loosing it because he was your world and now you feel like there’s no point in even being here anymore!” He shouted. 

Kurt didn’t return his passion, instead watching him carefully. Blaine stared back with glassy eyes. Neither of them spoke for a while. 

“You don’t have to condense your feelings in song, Blaine. They all know you’re hurting.” Kurt sighed eventually, sitting down on their bed beside him. 

“Hurting?” Blaine repeated in shock, “I’m more than hurting, Kurt, I’m—“ 

Blaine was interrupted by the sound of someone who wasn’t Kurt clearing their throat. He hadn’t even heard Finn and Rachel sliding the front door of their loft open. He hadn’t heard them walking across the floor, or pulling back the curtain that separated his room from theirs. But they had heard him. And they stood, watching him talk and shout at thin air. Blaine’s head whipped round and he felt Kurt’s presence lift. He was gone for now, but they both knew he’d be back. 

“Who were you talking to?” Finn asked quietly. Inside, he felt a pang of fear. But outside, Blaine shrugged, looking down at his hands again, mumbling something inaudible. Rachel’s eyes slid to his bloody knuckles, then to the stain on the wall that looked like someone had been shot. 

“Oh, Blaine…” she mumbled, putting her bag down and sitting in front of him. She took his hands, ignoring how he jumped when they made contact, and began to inspect the damage. Her heart broke for him. This wasn’t a new thing. As they locked eyes she gave him a knowing look. Rachel had been so good to him, even when they all knew she was hurting too. Blaine felt a pang of guilt and pulled away. 

“Let me clean these up. Finn can pack your things for you.” She said gently. Too mentally and physically exhausted to start a fight, Blaine just nodded, and let Rachel lead him out into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. Blaine listened to the sounds of Finn putting random items of clothing into the suitcase and he almost smiled slightly - Kurt would’ve arranged them by colour, then made up an outfit for each day they were away from home, then a spare, just in case. He watched Rachel pulling the first aid kit out of the drawer and prayed she wouldn’t ask him anything, but he knew her too well. 

“Were you talking to Kurt?” She asked, setting it down on the table and sitting opposite to him. Blaine cringed at someone else saying his name out loud. 

“I wasn’t talking to anyone.” He muttered hoarsely. 

“It’s okay if you were talking to him—“ 

“I wasn’t.” Blaine repeated more firmly, flexing his fingers. 

“Okay.” Rachel said, letting it slide, taking Blaine’s right hand and gently wiping the blood away, cleaning the area. Blaine had managed to take almost all of the skin off of all of his knuckles, but he barely flinched as Rachel wrapped a dressing around his hand and fastened it with medical tape. 

“Do you know what song you’ll sing this week?” She asked. Blaine sat for a minute and admired her bravery. She’d lost her best friend in all of this. She was grieving too. She wasn’t sleeping. None of them were. Yet here she was, cleaning him up again and asking him what he was going to do. 

“No,” Blaine answered honestly, then, “you?” 

“I could sing a million songs when it comes to Kurt.” She said with a sad smile, wiping down Blaine’s left hand and doing the same with the dressing as on his right hand. “But I can’t say I’ve chosen one yet.” 

Once she’d finished, she let his hand go, right as Finn came out of Kurt and Blaine’s bedroom, pulling his suitcase. “You guys ready to go?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly. 

Blaine nodded slowly. “Just give me a minute.” He said, standing and walking back into his bedroom. He went to Kurt’s chest of drawers and his eyes immediately glazed over. He pulled out the top drawer slowly, his bandaged hands shaking, eyes scanning over a selection of Kurt’s jumpers. He loved the way Kurt had dressed, no matter what anybody else ever said. Eventually, he lifted up a more subtle navy blue patterned jumper and held his face to it, breathing in heavily. He missed the way Kurt smelt. Like clean and warmth and safety. His smell boosted Blaine and, holding the jumper to his chest, he turned and walked back out of their room, meeting Finn and Rachel, who were ready by the door with their own cases. They gave the jumper sympathetic looks but neither of them mentioned it. 

“Okay,” Rachel said, trying to force a ready smile, “Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter 2

June 22nd, 2014 

The choir room made Blaine feel just as sick as he thought it would. He stood in the doorway, breathing deeply, quickly realising he was the last person to show up, because he’d told Finn and Rachel to leave without him, knowing he’d get ready slowly. It’s only when someone dies that you begin to truly understand how important different scents are, and the smell of the choir room was like a slap to the face. His eyes flickered round the room, scanning across all of his friends. They were all looking at him. Kurt’s friends. They all saw how rough he looked. It was always Kurt who encouraged him to look his best, so without him, his appearance had crumbled. Blaine didn’t use hair gel anymore. He barley ate or slept. His jeans were hardly skinny anymore because he’d lost weight. The only thing that looked good was Kurt’s jumper, which he was now wearing. Feeling dizzy, he found himself leaning against the doorframe for support. This was all too much. This reminder of the preserved life he and Kurt left behind when they moved to New York. 

Suddenly, Mercedes was wrapping him in a tight hug and everything became too much. Blaine dissolved into tears. He buried his face into her shoulder and sobbed. Mercedes held him tight, her heart breaking all over again. Loosing Kurt had been horrific for all of them, but at his funeral, the group had made an agreement, that no matter what, they had to be there for Blaine. Eventually, he let go of his friend and she led him to a seat beside hers at the back of the room, with Brittany on his other side. She gave him a hug, too, but Blaine appreciated that a lot of the room didn’t. Too many hugs at once and Blaine would have run screaming. 

Mr Schue walked to the front of the room and took a deep breath in. He wasn’t sure where to start, even if he’d been rehearsing this movement over and over in his head. “It’s great that so many of you could come back for this,” he started, eyes flickering over the group, “I never thought we’d have to be in this situation, but…” he trailed off, and turned away from them, to his board, on which he wrote in block capital letters: “KURT”. Then, he turned back to the room and smiled sadly. “I’ve mentioned this to a few of you, but for the next week I am opening the floor to anyone who wants to sing a song as a tribute to Kurt. Maybe a song he sung, or one that makes you think of him. It’s always been the most honest and beautiful way any of us have known how to express our feelings—“ 

Blaine scoffed. 

“—and I think it may really help us mourn Kurt in a way he would have been proud of. Would anyone like to go first?” 

There was a long, horrible silence. Blaine crossed his arms over his chest. Mr Schue sighed. “Okay, I’ll go first, some of you might need a few days to think about it.” He said, dragging a chair to the middle of the room and picking up his guitar. Blaine closed his eyes, willing Kurt to appear. 

“From the moment Kurt auditioned for the New Directions, all those years ago, I knew he was special.” Mr Schue spoke again, looking like he was already trying not to cry. “He lived in this glorious mindset, and no matter what life threw at him, he always fought back and never let it get him down. I respected him for that.” 

Blaine’s eyes flickered to where Kurt was standing, next to the board at the front of the room, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded, mocking Blaine’s position. However, there was a warm smile on his face, and he was watching Mr Schue with quiet respect. 

“Kurt was so talented, with so much ambition. I don’t think any of us will ever stop missing him.” Mr Schue breathed, before playing the first few chords of the song. He sung through a stripped down, acoustic version of Mr Cellophane - the song Kurt had auditioned for the New Directions with. Blaine nodded at the song choice, then looked to his fiancé, who was lip syncing along with his old teacher. He too, seemed to approve of the song. Mr Schue was crying heavily as his fingers strummed each chord, and a few people provided some background ooos and ahhs when appropriate. Blaine wrapped his arms around himself, breathing in Kurt’s smell. It was almost like a hug. Lost at how else to occupy his mind, he began to listen to the lyrics properly for the first time. 

He felt a sudden surge of rage. 

This wasn’t uncommon to Blaine since he’d lost Kurt. His whole body began to shake. The lyrics were all wrong. They didn’t reflect the Kurt he knew. The lyric: “you can look right through me, walk right by me, and never even know I’m there” was so wrong. That’s not how he wanted people to remember Kurt - as something they could just forget about after a small amount of time had passed. Kurt was beautiful and had an explosive personality - he was so much more than the bullied, closeted kid in his sophomore year. The sentiment behind the song had dissolved entirely. Blaine’s arms fell to his sides and his beaten hands tensed. Mr Schue came to the end of the song and Blaine didn’t clap, nor did he get up and join the large group hug that formed around their teacher. His throat closed up. Blaine didn’t want to make a scene again, and he certainly didn’t want to punch Mr Schue out of blind rage. So he stood and moved through the chairs, walking calmly out of the room. 

Since he’d lost Kurt, Blaine’s anger tended to stay on around a 4 or 5 at all times. Every so often, it flared into a 10. This was one of those moments. He broke into a run, down the hall and around the corner. Eventually, he came to the empty auditorium. He ripped the curtain back so harshly it almost entirely came off the rail. Everything slowed down as he looked around, at the endless rows of seats, at the huge, beautiful stage. Blaine began to sob, running again, up the steps, onto the stage. Every emotion he’d ever felt in that exact spot collided with him at once and his knees buckled. He cried, slamming his fists into the floor, again, unable to register the pain because it was nothing compared to the constant, crushing agony in his chest. This was it, Blaine decided. He was going back to New York and never ever coming back to Lima. It hurt too much. 

“Why the freak out, babe?” A voice asked. Blaine sat up so quickly his vision blurred, and turned to Kurt, who was sitting on the wall that divided the two groups of seats. 

“I thought I could do this, but I can’t!” Blaine shouted, his voice cracking. “Every little thing reminds me of you and I can’t escape it. It’s all too much. I can’t do this, any of it!” 

Kurt kicked his feet but didn’t say anything, obviously searching for the right words. Before he could, Blaine was up and standing again, his anger flaring. 

“You know what, fuck you, Kurt! Fuck you for leaving me! Fuck you for letting me fall in love with you! Fuck you for lying to me when you promised you’d stay with me forever…” Blaine trailed off, heaving, turning away from his late fiancé. It all sounded pathetic. Anything he was saying, they’d both heard before. It was empty, angry words. Kurt didn’t look offended, because he knew Blaine was right. When Kurt was sick, he made a lot of promises to a lot of people that he couldn’t keep, and now Blaine was paying for it. But what could Kurt do now? He knew if the tables were turned he’d be just as mad at Blaine. 

Blaine ran his sore hands over his face, shuddering and crying into them. He was a mess, and he had no idea what to do. Glancing at Kurt through his fingers, Blaine let out a shaky sigh and tried to control his crying. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “but this hurts too badly. I think I’m just going to pack up and go back to New York. This isn’t home anymore.” 

“I mean, I can’t stop you.” Kurt sighed. “But maybe you should—“ 

“Was it the song?” 

Kurt was interrupted by a voice. Blaine looked up and saw Santana standing only a few meters away from Kurt. He was shocked. 

“Sorry?” Blaine asked, trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t falling apart by wiping away angry tears and clearing his throat. 

“Was it the song that got to you?” She asked. It wasn’t cutting or rude, but it also wasn’t condescending, which Blaine appreciated. 

“Everything got to me, Santana.” He snapped, before trying to change the subject, “Why’d they send you?” He asked coldly, looking her up and down. 

“Many reasons,” She said, walking towards him and sitting down on the edge of the stage. “For one, I’ve heard you’ve been angry and unpredictable at the moment, and if anyone in that club can take being yelled at, it’s me.” She patted the space beside her and Blaine reluctantly sat down. “Also, I knew you didn’t need a Tina or Quinn type to dribble all over you and tell you exactly what you want to hear. But you also don’t want a Puck or Artie awkwardly patting you on the back.” 

Blaine nodded slowly, ignoring her gaze. He could still feel Kurt’s eyes on him. 

“Blaine, you can’t carry on acting like this. Kurt wouldn’t have wanted you to—“ 

“Why does it matter what Kurt wants?” He shouted suddenly, “Kurt’s not here - that’s the whole point! He doesn’t get to choose how I cope without him! He’s fucking dead and—“ 

“What do you feel?” She asked quietly, interrupting him. 

“Sorry?” Blaine repeated, turning to her. She glanced down at his messed up hands but didn’t seem phased by it. 

“What do you feel, right now, in this moment?” 

Blaine shrugged and looked away. “Anger. Pain. Grief.” 

Santana nodded. “Sucks to tell you this Blaine, but we’d all be more shocked if you didn’t feel like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“All of this, is natural. Blaine, you lost the love of your life, in one of the worst ways possible, because some miserable fuck up there decided that it was his time to go. You and I both know it wasn’t, and you’ll probably argue that to your grave. But now that it’s happened, and a month ago now, it’s time for you to accept it. I’m not saying you have to move on and forget him, because, not that I’d ever tell him this, but Kurt Hummel was one of the most incredible, genuine and loving people I’ve ever known, so there’s no reason why you’d want to forget him.” 

Blaine’s eyes flickered to Kurt, who smiled gently at his friends words. 

“But you have to accept that what happened happened. Now you can begin celebrating his life rather than resenting everyone because it ended too early. We all know that.” She said, smiling sadly, gently taking one of his hands. “Maybe you need closure.” 

“Closure?” 

“If Kurt was standing in front of you, right now, what would you say?” 

Blaine looked up, at his fiancé still sitting on the wall, giving him a ready nod. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and gave Santana’s hand a thankful squeeze. “If Kurt were here, I’d get so mad him for promising things he couldn’t keep when he was sick. I’d shout at him for stuff he couldn’t control, like what the world gave us and the future we were supposed to build together. I’d scream and cry because it’s all so unfair and I miss him so much.” 

Kurt hung his head, pressing his lips together sadly. Blaine sighed, turning back to Santana. 

“But, eventually, I’d apologise for all of it. I’d say: Kurt, I’m so sorry. I blamed you for so much - of course you told me you were going to get better, what else were you supposed to say? You wanted me to help you. I’m sorry for not doing enough when you were sick. I’m sorry for pushing all of our friends away once you’d gone. I’m sorry for not treasuring you enough. I’m sorry you never got to Broadway. I’m sorry this had to happen to you. I… I love you… so much…” Blaine felt fresh tears falling and Santana pulling him into a long, tight hug. He gripped onto her, shuddering. Saying it all, out loud, had eased the pain slightly. It was still there, as an ache, but Blaine knew it would be there for a long time, so he didn’t dwell on it. Eventually, Santana let him go and held him at arms length. 

“Now,” She said, “if Kurt was here right now, what would he say?” 

Blaine looked to Kurt again, who hopped down off the wall and stood right in front of the pair. Kurt began to talk, and Blaine repeated it all to Santana a few words behind. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew Kurt wasn’t really there. He knew this Kurt was one of his own creation, so he knew Santana couldn’t see him. 

But he wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

“Well, I’d say you’re a doof, and I love you too.” Kurt started, and once Blaine had said it, they all chuckled sadly. 

“Then,” Kurt continued, “I’d say stop blaming yourself, because the fact that I had cancer wasn’t your fault, or mine, or anybody’s. It just… was. And that’s life, Blaine. That’s what we got. You did more than enough when I was sick, so let that go.” 

Blaine took a shaky breath, before watching his fiancé and continuing. “I’m not saying you can’t mourn me, but I’m not letting you waste your whole life on it. I’ll always be by your side, I’ll always belong to you.” Kurt smiled sadly, wishing he could pull his Blaine in for a hug or kiss. He shook his head and locked eyes with him again. “Now, you’re going to go back in that choir room and sit with our friends, and be there for them so they can be there for you. Don’t push them away. After this week, you can go back to New York and never look back, I can’t stop you. Just please, keep up those weekly phone calls with my dad.” 

Blaine nodded, before looking back to Santana. “Thank you.” He whispered. 

“Now, you have closure.” She replied, smiling softly. Blaine returned it, but she noticed the way his eyes didn’t meet hers properly. They’d made a step, but he had much further to go. She stood slowly, offering a hand out. Blaine hesitated. The last person he’d held hands with was Kurt, and he was still desperately trying to preserve the feeling of Kurt’s fingers laced with his. He took her offer eventually, but made sure to hold it in a different way, and thankfully Santana didn’t notice. Blaine felt his fiancés presence lift as they’d walked past him. She led him him through the auditorium and down, back to the choir room. Blaine’s feet took him there without even having to think about it, and if he closed his eyes, he felt seventeen again. He felt like they’d just finished a glee rehearsal and Kurt was dragging him down the corridor, excitably chatting about each number. He wanted nothing more than to feel that way again. He didn’t appreciate it at the time. It had only been three years since, yet it felt like a lifetime. 

When Santana led Blaine back into the choir room, it was almost silent. Everyone looked up as they arrived. None of them knew what to do, but Blaine did. He let go of Santana and walked to Mr Schue, pulling him into a hug, swaying slightly on the spot. Too choked up to speak, he just hugged back, accepting what they all knew was Blaine’s best way of apologising. 

So much was said, yet the room stayed silent.


	3. Chapter 3

June 23rd, 2014 

‘Our hands were meant to hold each other, fearlessly and forever. Which is why it’s never really felt like I’ve been getting to know you, it’s always felt like I was remembering you from something. Like in every lifetime we have ever lived, we have chosen to come back and find each other and fall in love all over again. Over and over, for all eternity.’ 

Feeling a tear slip down his cheek, Blaine folded his arms over his chest and sunk down further in his chair. He was trying to focus as the room filled with each ex member of the New Directions, all hugging one another and talking quietly for the start of the second day of the tribute, but his mind was wandering. Instead of Kurt’s for once, he could hear his own voice in his head, and it was maddening. In it, he was proposing to Kurt. If he shut out the room properly, he could feel every pair of eyes from every show choir on him; he could feel the weight of the ring box in his pocket; he could see the bright blue and purples of Kurt’s outfit. He could hear the applause, feel the rose petals falling on his shoulders, feel Kurt’s lips on his. A strange warmth filled the young adult and he found a soft smile forming. 

“Blaine, you alright?” 

As soon as it arrived, the heat was gone. His eyes snapped open and he was back in the choir room, filled with the knowledge that Kurt was gone. He felt empty and cold once again. Blinking up at Mr Schue, he barely noticed the tears falling down his cheeks. Despite his attempts to scrub them away, they’d all seen. Blaine felt weak. 

“I’m okay,” he said, before thinking about it and sighing, “I’ll be okay.” 

He didn’t know when he’d be okay. But in his mind, Kurt told him he would be. One day. 

Mr Schue nodded, and, not wanting to push him further, walked back to stand front and centre in the now full choir room. “We’re going to start with Brittany and Santana, who said they’ve got something prepared.” 

They all watched in quiet anticipation as the couple dragged two stools into the performance area. Blaine uncrossed his arms, and, without even thinking, began fiddling with Kurt’s engagement ring, which he wore on a chain around his neck. Carole gave it to him at the funeral and he’d only taken it off to wash - he didn’t want to ruin it. Half of the room was waiting for Santana to say something cutting, but after their conversation yesterday, Blaine felt a new sense of trust in her, so he wasn’t worried about it. 

“Kurt Hummel was one of the bravest people either of us have ever known.” Brittany started, immediately taking her girlfriends hand for comfort. Despite appreciating her words, Blaine felt a pang of jealously. 

“Not only do we dedicate this song to Kurt, but also to you, Blaine.” Santana took over, turning to him and smiling gently. Blaine’s eyebrows furrowed and he sat up slightly. 

Brittany nodded slowly. “We looked up to you two as a couple in high school. You showed us that there was a place for us too. For everyone like us.” 

“We’ve never told you this before, but the night you guys got engaged, we happy cried for hours. It felt like such a step.” Santana murmured, breaking eye contact with Blaine and looking away for a moment. He felt tear after tear slipping down his cheeks. Instructive thoughts kept hitting him like bullets. Why did they get to fall in love and stay with that love forever and he didn’t? What made them different? What sick, twisted fuck decided to take his Kurt away from him? 

He squeezed his eyes closed, unintentionally pushing the tears out. 

Brittany spoke again. “You gave us the courage to be ourselves in more places. To stand up to the people who tried to push us back in the dark.” 

“Loosing Kurt means we will fight harder to live in a world we know he would’ve been proud of. An equal world.” Santana breathed. “This song reminds us of a time when we really realised how brave the pair of you were. You stood, in front of a huge audience in Ohio, yet you sang so strongly - like you were the only two people in the room.” 

Blaine felt his entire body stiffen and his stomach clench. He knew exactly what song it was. He began to panic as Brad began to play the first few chords of Candles by Hey Monday. The last time he’d ever listened to this song he was laying beside Kurt, their bodies tangled together, giggling - the night they’d gotten engaged. This was all so soon to be remembering these things. Suddenly, Rachel reached out and took his hand, and it brought him back down to earth. He relaxed slightly and felt his eyes flicker to hers in a way he hoped was grateful. His anger had subsided as Kurt’s words rang through his head from the day before: “Be there for them so they can be there for you. Don’t push them away.” 

Santana and Brittany were already at the first chorus, both of them crying. Santana couldn’t take her eyes off of Blaine. She sang like a programmed machine as her mind went elsewhere. No friend she’d ever had had done anything that effected her as badly as her and Blaine’s conversation the day before. It kept her up for the whole night. She stared deeply into his dull, hollow eyes. She felt a pang flickering over his greasy, messy hair that stood up in thick curls and hung lankily over his forehead. Over his oily, uncared for skin, that he hadn’t shaved. Over his dirty, loose fitting jeans, and his grey hoodie that was covered in coffee stains. She tried to imagine the composed Blaine that Kurt took with him when he died, and found herself crying harder. That Blaine - who always smelt clean, in bright, coordinated outfits, with gelled hair - felt like a million years ago.

Santana felt like she’d lost two friends. 

Blaine himself took a few seconds to look around the room. Not counting Mr Schue, the age range in the room was 19-21. He closed his eyes. They were all so young, too young to loose someone so close to them. Too young to watch a friend beaten by cancer. 

It was so fucked up. 

Brittany and Santana reached the end of the song, and this time, Blaine joined in on the applause. Too moved to make a huge speech, he simply mouthed “thank you” at the pair, and they seemed to get the message. Brittany stood, and gathered Blaine up in her arms for a long time. This time, Blaine didn’t feel like walking out. 

But someone else did. 

He let go of Brittany just as Finn was disappearing out of the choir room.


	4. Chapter 4

Blaine stopped anyone from following him and they all nodded. “I’ll go.” He said shakily. 

He broke into a run, eventually catching up with Finn in the hall. He was walking swiftly in the direction of the exit with his fists clenched. Luckily, it was lesson time, so the pair were alone. 

“Finn! Wait!” Blaine shouted. The taller man stopped dead in his tracks and spun on his heel, his face oddly contorted with grief and anger. Blaine slowed to a halt in front of him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“What do you want, Blaine? You want me to give you a pity hug and a lecture about how much Kurt loved you? Or are you getting sick of them by now?” Finn snapped suddenly. “Because I’ve barely had one.” 

“Finn—“ 

He’d never seen Finn like this before. So angry, breathing ragged, his eyes narrowed in disgust. 

“Kurt dies, and all anyone cares about is you. It’s all about how Blaine is doing. Not about me, who lost a brother, or Rachel, who lost a best friend. Or even Kurt’s father, who’s lost everything. Nope, it’s all you.” Finn spat, taking a few steps closer and poking Blaine in the chest. “And you’re a fucking mess. You wear your feelings on your sleeve and shove them down our throats at every opportunity. What about me, huh?” He took another step forward and Blaine took one back, his legs shaking. “Y’know what I do, Blaine? I wait until Rachel is asleep and then I get up, and take a walk around the loft. I look at his things. I breathe in his smell. And I cry. It’s good to cry at night so you can hold yourself together and be there for other people during the day, although I’ll be damned if you know what that’s like.”

Blaine’s brain filtered through about fifty different responses, none of them feeling appropriate. While part of him knew the older man was right, he’d gone about it in such a way that Blaine felt nothing but irrational guilt. Finn swallowed, watching him carefully, his eyes brimming with angry tears. 

Eventually, Blaine tried to stutter out a weak apology. Finn scoffed. He turned to walk away, when the shorter man grabbed his wrist and opened his mouth to speak. Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, willing Kurt to arrive. He knew Kurt would know what to say. Sure enough, his late fiancé appeared, standing against the lockers between the two of them. His face was unreadable. Blaine stared at him, desperate for help. Eventually, Kurt licked his lips and spoke. 

“Just because you were both close to me, it doesn’t mean either one of you should invalidate the others pain.” 

Blaine nodded slowly. “Finn, we were both close to Kurt. We both loved him—“ 

“Fuck off with your patronising crap, Blaine,” Finn spat, “you don’t know how difficult it’s been—“ 

“Finn please—“ 

“No! I’m done with this, I’m done with you!” Finn began trying to walk off again, when Blaine grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Panting slightly, but not pulling away, Finn stood as though he was waiting for a better response from the shorter man. Sure enough, Blaine’s tongue glided across his bottom lip and he cleared his throat. It was raw and had been for months. His eyes flickered to Kurt, who went to talk, but Blaine shot him a look and he closed his mouth. Blaine didn’t want Kurt talking through him. Not this time. Not to Finn.

“Finn, I understand why you’re angry.” 

Finn didn’t relax, but Blaine let go of his arm, before continuing. “When you love someone the way I loved Kurt, you can’t imagine anyone feeling even close to how you do, about them. You can’t imagine others being capable of loving him.” 

Blaine took a shaky breath and looked up to Finn, who was watching him carefully. He wasn’t as angry and his eyes had softened slightly. 

“But eventually, you look around, and realise that the way other people looked at him, and the way other people loved Kurt, only made you want to love him more. It was the relationships, the bonds he had with other people that made up who he was. It was the way you and him bickered like anything, but never for a second left each others corners. It was the deep emotional connection between him and Burt that I never saw between me and my own father. It was the undying support he gave his best friends like Rachel and Mercedes, no matter what. I couldn’t downplay any of that if I tried. It was the love of others that made him so great. It was the love of others that emphasised what a fantastic person he was.” 

There was a long, warm silence after Blaine’s words. Finn’s expression had softened completely and he was crying. A little way behind them, Kurt stood, unseen by the majority, next to Rachel, who had gone to see if the pair were okay. She was also leaking silent tears. Blaine scrubbed at his eyes furiously - he wasn’t done talking yet. 

“I know I haven’t been easy, Finn. I know the last thing you and Rachel need right now is a mess living in your apartment upsetting you both further. So I will turn this around,” he gestured to his dishevelled appearance, “Because Kurt wouldn’t have wanted me looking like a mess. And I’m going to start being there for other people rather than wallowing in my own misery. I’m finally ready to move away from the anger. I’m never going to stop missing Kurt. That’s a given. But it’s time to stop taking it out on the world—“ 

Blaine felt like he couldn’t stop rambling, but every word was coming straight from his heart and he meant all of it. He was cut off when Finn finally attacked him in a hug. They stayed that way for a long time, and Blaine knew in his heart that he was forgiven. For the first time in a long while, he smiled - properly and warmly.


	5. Chapter 5

June 24th, 2014 

After getting his first hair cut since he lost Kurt, Blaine stood in the shower, letting the water beat down on a body that still felt like it was made of paper. It was a shower he’d been in many times before - in the Hudson-Hummel household, where he, Finn and Rachel were staying while they were in Lima. They hadn’t been sure about giving him Kurt’s room, but Blaine didn’t care. He was surrounded by Kurt, no matter where he went or what he did. Blaine’s entire life had been Kurt. One more room didn’t make much of a difference. Besides, it was fairly empty, most of his stuff was in New York or storage. Blaine ran his hands over his face, freshening up properly at last. After scrubbing a months worth of grime from his skin and washing his hair again for good measure, Blaine climbed out and grabbed a towel from the side, wrapping himself in the smell of Kurt. It did feel better, to be clean. To move on to a new stage of grief. Once he was dry, he slipped Kurt’s ring on its chain back around his neck and sighed. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he wished he could rub out the circles, like bruises, under his eyes. He had a half hour before they were heading back to McKinley for day three of the tribute week. He still hadn’t decided on a song yet. 

When he returned to the bedroom, Kurt was laying sprawled out on his old bed, staring up at the ceiling. Every time he appeared, he was wearing something different, a specific outfit that Blaine had remembered. Today, he was sporting tight jeans, combat boots, and a waistcoat with a long sleeved shirt. He looked gorgeous, and Blaine felt his stomach flutter slightly. 

“There you are,” Blaine murmured, “it’s been a while.” 

“It’s been less than a day.” Kurt retorted, lifting his head to shoot him a look that Blaine struggled to read. “I had to take some time for myself. After everything you said to Finn yesterday… I knew I had to give you a little space, and I had to think for a while.”

“Yeah?” Blaine said, dropping his towel and pulling clean boxers out of his suitcase. “What about?” 

Kurt returned to looking at the ceiling, sighing deeply. “I’m proud of you Blaine, really I am, but I’m so… angry.” 

“Angry?” Blaine repeated in shock. He held up two different pairs of pants and allowed Kurt to point wordlessly at the red ones in his left hand. As Blaine shimmied into them, Kurt let his head drop back onto the pillow. 

“Yeah. I was really angry at Finn at first, for taking everything out on you, like any of this is your fault. He’s still got Rachel - he doesn’t get it.” 

“Maybe not, but—“ 

“Then I was angry because he’ll get to do everything with her, and we won’t get to do any of it. Then I was angry at myself for thinking that. Then I was angry at what you said—“ 

“What I said?” 

Kurt sighed. “I came to the realisation that you will live a life that carries on without me. It had never occurred to me before because it’s only been a month. But you’ll age. I want to see you grow to an old man, Blaine, really I do. Fuck, I love you too much to think anything else. But it breaks my heart that I won’t. I’m going to stay twenty one forever, just watching over you.” 

Blaine finished the final button on a shirt that he was either his or Kurt’s - he couldn’t remember - and turned to face the bed, a sad little smile on his face. “You think I haven’t already gone over this? I said what I had to say yesterday because you and I both know I can’t keep taking what happened to us out on other people. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to move on or forget you. I won’t. Ever.” 

“You’re so young Blaine, barely out of your teens. I love you, but I don’t want you to spend your entire life not living because you haven’t got me anymore—“ 

“Don’t talk like that, Kurt.” Blaine snapped. “I’ll decide how I live.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Kurt sighed. They both knew that wasn’t really what Kurt had meant, but he felt too tired to argue. He sat up and Blaine perched on the end of the bed. 

“You look gorgeous.” Kurt murmured, their faces very close together. “You smell just like you used to.” 

“So do you.” Blaine whispered, gesturing to their surroundings. Kurt chuckled, and went to say something else when Carole’s voice came up the stairs. 

“Blaine, can you come downstairs?” 

“Stay strong today, I’ll be there with you.” Kurt whispered, before his eyes flickered upwards to Blaine’s hair, still slightly damp, every curl bouncing free. “Gel?” He asked quietly. Blaine jerked slightly. He hadn’t felt the urge to gel his hair in a while, but Kurt being there, reminding him, felt like they were back in New York, getting ready together for a date or NYADA event. 

After throwing a small amount of gel on his hair, so that it kept its volume and curl without being wild, Blaine closed his eyes, felt Kurt leave, and headed downstairs. Everyone was waiting for him in the kitchen. They all looked subtly delighted at his transformation. Before he could blink, Carole was engulfing him in a warm hug. 

“You look lovely.” She whispered in his ear, before pulling back and holding him at arms length, “So handsome.” 

Blaine knew if he tried to reply he’d weaken and start crying, he looked away for a moment, before meeting her watery eyes and smiling softly. She let him go and he was instantly pulled into Burt Hummel’s strong arms. Burt had never gone off the rails like Blaine had, but something within him had snapped and broken when Kurt died. The man had lost his family, and the last living remainder of his late wife Elizabeth. They weren’t sure he’d ever be the same, but he was putting on a brave face as much as he could. He had Carole, Finn, Rachel and Blaine now. They were his family. 

“Why don’t you two come with us today?” Blaine asked gently. Burt shot Carole a look. 

“We’d love to, but first…” Carole started, before trailing off. It was clear to Blaine something had been previously planned and his stomach twisted. 

“Blaine, do you want to come and see Kurt with me?” Burt asked. For a brief hysterical second Blaine’s thought Burt could see him too - but then he remembered. Kurt was buried in Lima. He came home two weeks before he died when the doctors told him there was nothing more they could do. They’d talked about it and decided - Kurt wanted to be at home, among family, in a place he knew so well. While it didn’t make the situation any less physically or mentally painful, they would’ve done anything for Kurt, and it felt right. 

It was a short walk to the cemetery. Not much was said, except Burt clearing his throat and asking how Blaine had been doing. 

“Okay,” Blaine lied, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “a little better now. You?” 

Burt sighed. “The same.” 

They stayed quiet after that, until a few minutes later, when they arrived beside the lavish grave of Kurt Hummel. Blaine felt his heart thumping in his chest at the mound of earth, not yet flat. Despite a month passing, it was still covered in flowers and cards from people - some Blaine hadn’t even heard of before. He noticed how well cared for it was, and part of him wished Kurt had been buried in New York, so he could visit him like this every day. Plus, the image of Burt going there alone to tend his sons grave broke his heart further. They crouched either side of the headstone, and Blaine’s eyes flickered over the beautiful cursive words he knew by heart. 

Kurt Elizabeth Hummel  
1992-2013  
Beloved son, friend and fiancé  
‘Take these broken wings and learn to fly’ 

For a while, both men were too choked up to speak. They both moved slightly to sit on the ground, listening to the almost silent cemetery in quiet appreciation and reading the words on the stone over and over. 

“Do you have any regrets?” Blaine asked suddenly. Burt looked at him and furrowed his eyebrows. The younger man shuffled under his gaze but continued. “Anything you wish you’d done or said, that you can’t do now?” 

“Of course, they… they keep me up at night.” Burt said gruffly, looking back at the headstone, Blaine waiting quietly for him to continue. “I regret not being a better father when his mom died. Kurt had to grow up much quicker than most kids, and I feel like we drifted away from each other. I regret ignoring his problems in place of my own. I regret the period of time where he thought I preferred Finn over him. I regret not doing more when I found out he was ill.” 

“You did plenty—“ 

“It wasn’t enough, Blaine.” Burt said firmly, in a tone that said he really wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. “But that’s life, when people die. Losing his mom, it changed us both. We both had regrets.”

“I know, I know.” Blaine murmured. “But remember the things you did right with him—“ 

“I do, Blaine. I remember the good things too.” Burt interrupted quickly. Blaine was frustrated. It’s like they should have been be so close after loosing Kurt, like life was a perfectly written movie, but suddenly all Burt seemed to want to do was dismiss everything he said. Then, after a long pause, he eventually asked: “Do you?” 

“What, remember the good things?” Blaine repeated, “Y-Yeah. Well, I’m starting to, anyway.” 

Blaine found himself becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. Something felt different - he felt anxious. Like he knew something bad was going to happen. 

Neither he nor Burt spoke to one another after that.


	6. Chapter 6

An hour later and all five of them crammed into Carole’s car as it crawled in the direction of McKinley High. Nobody really spoke. Blaine picked at the scabs on his knuckles. He couldn’t stop worrying about the way Burt had been with him, or was he overthinking? What if they all thought that his insides had suddenly matched his outsides - that he was already trying to forget Kurt? That he wasn’t sad anymore? Had Burt found his regrets question too forward? Blaine tried to think rationally, but he found his mind wandering so badly. What did Kurt mean when he’d said he was angry? Was Kurt actually mad at Blaine, and angry because Blaine wasn’t anymore? The sudden guilt was overwhelming. He shook his head to try and rid it of the thoughts, when one pushed its way to the front of his mind. 

“Stay strong today, I’ll be there with you.” 

Blaine relaxed slightly. 

***

They were about halfway through a beautiful and moving rendition of a song called Best Friend from Mercedes’ new album, when Kurt materialised in the empty chair beside Blaine, making him jump slightly. 

“She really is fantastic. I can’t believe she’s putting this on her album. At least someone will remember me.” Kurt muttered. Blaine started slightly at his words. Is that was this was about? Was that a direct dig at him? 

“Do you know what song you’re singing yet?” Kurt asked when his fiancé didn’t respond. Blaine glanced at him, before locking his gaze back on Mercedes. 

“I asked you a question.” Kurt said in a colder voice that Blaine had heard in a long time. The tone of it broke his heart further. 

“I-I don’t know yet.” Blaine whispered out of the corner of his mouth. The room wasn’t silent, people were crying and Mercedes was belting a long note over their backup, so Blaine prayed he couldn’t be heard. He tried to refocus back on the beautiful tribute lyrics, his stomach clenching painfully. 

“I have some suggestions, or do you want to do this yourself?” Kurt asked. Blaine was confused, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to keep his gaze forward. 

“Myself.” He hissed. His head was pounding. 

“You don’t even want to hear them? Wow.” Kurt folded his arms and slumped down in his chair. It was the same irritable tone that they both remembered from the odd argument they’d have back in the day. Today it sounded odd, full of something new. Blaine turned to him, watching him carefully with narrowed eyes. 

“Where did this come from?” He whispered. “And why are you being so mean?” 

“I thought you’d want to hear the songs I carefully chose for you, but you obviously don’t care that much.” 

The whole concept of being quiet to stop the room had vanished from Blaine’s head - he had bigger concerns. He knew Kurt better than he knew himself, and therefore knew that something as petty as song choices wasn’t the reason Kurt was mad at him. He was disguising it. This was something much bigger than that. 

“What’s wrong with you? I know you, Kurt, and I know that’s not what’s bothering you. Tell me.” Blaine demanded, trying to stop his voice from shaking. 

“I’ve already told you,” Kurt said, oddly quietly, “I told you in Burt and Carole’s house.” 

“That… that… doesn’t make any sense.” 

Kurt scoffed but didn’t say anything. Blaine twisted himself so he was facing his fiancé straight on. 

“We talked it over. I know you’re upset about this, I am too, but we’ve accepted it, right? And I thought that…” 

Blaine trailed off when the crushing silence finally caught up with him. His eyes darted to the faces of every one of his friends, staring directly at him, all with very different expressions. Mercedes song had long since finished, and everyone had seen him shouting at and talking to an empty chair. And they’d all heard pretty much every word. He locked eyes with Kurt, who gave him a wicked, frightening smile and a quick wave, before disappearing. A hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, before turning to Rachel, who retracted her hand like he was red hot. Words left Blaine and he stared helplessly at her. 

“Was that a joke?”

Everyone’s heads whipped round to Sam, who was sitting near the back of the room. The intent of the question was unclear but it didn’t sound friendly. Blaine’s stomach clenched tighter and he felt vomit rising in his throat. 

“I… I…” He swallowed thickly. Tears were welling up in his eyes. Despite everything, he wanted Kurt so badly he could’ve screamed. “I didn’t… I don’t…” He stammered helplessly, rubbing a shaky hand on the back of his neck, willing his late fiancé to arrive and tell him what to say. But this felt intentional, like Kurt wanted this to happen, because Kurt was gone, and no matter what, Blaine couldn’t make him appear. The thought made him feel sick. 

The amount of people in the room seemed to double and triple every time he looked around. They were closing in on him. Judging him. Hating him. His breathing quickened and he felt himself panicking. His fingers dug into the hard plastic of the chair as he prayed for the ground to swallow him up. 

Suddenly, the phrase: “Stay strong today, I’ll be there with you” had a more sinister undertone that made Blaine’s stomach churn.


	7. Chapter 7

Luckily, before anyone else could speak, he was quite literally saved by the bell. It rang for lunch; the school sprang into life once more as students thundered down the corridors. The room breathed a gentle sigh of relief. Everyone stood at once, almost too quickly. The group began to split, with promises to meet back there in an hour. Blaine followed his friends wordlessly through the corridors, knowing he’d really fucked up this time. 

He knew he was right when a few minutes later, he sat with Finn, Rachel, Santana, Brittany, Sam and Mercedes in the Lima Bean, all stirring their drinks in complete silence and not meeting each other’s eyes. The act of holding in his tears was making Blaine’s face ache so badly. Not only was he surrounded by couples, he was surrounded by couples who’d just watched him talking to an empty seat. That and Kurt still hadn’t reappeared. They were skirting around the topic, but none of them knew what to say instead to fill the gap. So no one said anything. 

Blaine took a sip of his coffee before leaning back and grimacing. It tasted wrong. His mind raced as he took a moment to realise - he’d said Kurt’s coffee order rather than his own. His eyes flickered up to meet Finn’s, who had his eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“S’Kurt’s.” Blaine mumbled into his drink. After another silence, he put the cup down and turned to Mercedes. “That song was beautiful, by the way.” He felt a pang of guilt when he realised she’d written such a beautiful tribute and he had, once again, stolen everyone’s attention. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, but it didn’t excuse it. 

“Thank you.” She said with a gentle smile, before reaching out and taking his hand. Blaine tried not to recoil, instead allowing her to hold him. He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. Knowing none of them were going to be the first to talk, he cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, for taking the attention from you today, ‘Cedes,” he murmured, stumbling over his words like a child, “you did a great thing and it got overlooked because of me.” 

Mercedes shook her head and went to talk, but he raised his free hand to silence her. “Guys, I can’t explain a lot, because I don’t understand it myself. But if this is how I want to grieve, then I will. I’m sorry. For now, this is how it is. I wasn’t ready to let go of Kurt, so I can’t.” 

“We know, Blaine, we understand.” Rachel said gently. 

“He’s not happy with me at the moment. I don’t exactly know what I’ve done, but something wrong.” 

“How do you know he’s not happy with you?” Finn asked quietly, leaning forward slightly, his knee bouncing up and down. 

“Today in the choir room… it’s like he wanted that to happen. Before he left he gave him this… look. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was full of venom, like he was trying to expose me.” He took a pause and a long, shaky sigh. “How are you guys feeling at the moment? Have any of you, you know, seen him, or heard him?” 

There was a long pause, before someone quietly said: “I have.” 

Their eyes slid to Rachel, who seemed to shrink down in her chair. 

“I hear him all the time. In my head,” she continued, “He’s always telling me what and what not to do. He kept me upright, and he hasn’t stopped yet. Like the other day, I was making coffee, and suddenly Kurt was there, reminding me it makes me phlegmy. I threw it straight down the sink.” 

Finn leant over and took her hand, which she melted into gratefully. 

“I just feel like, we had so many plans, stuff we’d wanted for each other since we became friends. It made this connection, and neither of us are ready to break it.” 

Everyone nodded gently. Blaine felt sick. 

She continued. “My entire life, I’ve always understood the reason for my pain. Like, I knew heartache was inevitable, but I always knew why it was happening to me. There was an explanation. But this, this isn’t like that. Kurt never did anything wrong. It wasn’t his time. The world wasn’t ready to loose him.” 

A long silence followed. Eventually, Blaine took another sip of Kurt’s coffee and grimaced at his late fiancé’s terrible taste in drinks, and cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, I’m going to sing, then I’m going home, to New York. For a long time - maybe forever. I know Mr Schue wanted us there for the whole week but I’m tired of pulling focus from the deserving, so I’m leaving early.” 

Rachel sat back, and was struck almost instantly with a vision of Blaine pacing round and round their empty loft, shouting desperately at his dead fiancé. She saw him sobbing, begging with Kurt to come back, to stop hating him. She saw him grabbing any alcohol he could find from the fridge and curling up on the couch, slurring the words to Teenage Dream. She saw him punching the walls, over and over, until their entire apartment was stained red. 

She knew she couldn’t let that happen. 

But she also knew Blaine Anderson like she knew the back of her hand, and no matter how she argued, he wouldn’t let her go back with him until the week was up. So instead, she made a mental note to ring her friend twice a day for the rest of the week, and to get on the next plane over if he didn’t respond. 

She placed a hand on his knee and smiled as warmly as could, knowing it’d mean more to him than anything if she just went along with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are so appreciated, thank you!


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